An Ordinary Day
by terrapintarts
Summary: When the turtles find themselves unexpectedly transported to the other side of the galaxy, they're not sure what dangers they'll encounter, or what strange creatures they might meet, but they DO know one thing: it's all Mikey's fault.
1. Chapter 1

_This story was written Round Robin style by (Terrapin Tarts) DeeMG, Winnychan, & KameTerra. Due to its length, it has been divided into three parts for purposes of publication. We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it._

An Ordinary Day

**PART 1**

The world turned inside out. Colors sang and screamed, flavors crawled over their eyes like bugs, lights flashed inside their shells, and smells tickled across their skins, as every sense the turtles owned went completely haywire and betrayed them. Gravity stopped working. They could fly, but they were rooted in cement, or so it seemed for that dizzying, stomach-churning moment. They struggled to stay together, to stay in control of themselves, as everything around them turned to shrieking chaos.

In other words, it was a normal Tuesday.

_Whump!_

As suddenly as it began, it ended. Leonardo staggered to his feet—he meant to "leap to his feet", but his sense of balance hadn't quite managed to keep up—and stared around at what looked like a grassy meadow under a summer sun. He blinked at his brothers, who didn't even try to copy his amazing feat, but instead just lolled in the grass where they landed.

"Mikey, 'm gonna kill you," Raphael rasped. He squinted, and took a swipe at the nearest brother.

"Ow! Raph, that's me," Donatello rocked from the force of the blow, and totally misjudged his retaliatory attack. His hand thudded weakly to the ground next to Raph. He didn't even try again, conserving all of his strength for the important task of staring at the sky. "Mike—what have we told you about not pressing the shiny buttons on things we don't own?"

"How'm I supposed to keep up with all of the stuff you make?" Michelangelo protested. Grass tufts adorned his shoulders as he struggled to sit up, glanced around, decided it was all a bad idea, and let himself fall down again. "I thought it was a soda fountain or something."

Don scoffed. "Yes, because I would not only make a soda fountain, but I would make a soda fountain that appears magically out of thin air, hovers in the dojo during practice, and then crashes to the ground like some sort of cut-rate R2D2!"

Silence fell for a minute. Then Raphael ventured, "Um, Donnie, that... actually sounds exactly like something you'd make."

"Yeah, well," Don rolled over and began the difficult task of figuring out how to get back on his feet. "... if I'd done that, I would've at least labeled the button that, when pressed, sends mutant turtles to the other side of the galaxy!"

"Is that where we are?" Leonardo wondered. He turned his head slowly, like he wasn't sure it was allowed.

"It's—well—I think…"

Leonardo closed his eyes in resignation. "Let me guess—you've never actually tested it."

"Well of course I haven't tested it yet!" Don snapped. "How reckless do you think I am! There's a protocol that has to be followed for things like this—it wasn't nearly ready to just start zapping people to other worlds! Only an idiot would do that," he said with a seething look at Michelangelo.

"Oops?" offered Mikey. Really, he knew an apology was grossly inadequate at the moment, so why bother?

Raphael snorted, but a moment later he got to his feet, though he took a moment to rest on his knees before standing fully upright. When he did so he looked rather... grayer than usual.

Leonardo knew how he felt—the horizon had tilted disturbingly when he first stood up, but keeping still helped things stabilize. Though… he tested the ground, pushing against it with the ball of his foot… and found it wasn't as solid as he'd assumed. In fact, when he prodded it harder, it bounced a little.

"Uh… guys?"

Don, who was by now on his knees, looked at him, and Mike, still lying on the grass, opened his eyes.

Rather than saying anything more, Leo jumping slightly, and the ground rippled visibly beneath him. Each one of his brother's eyes widened, and then they all looked down at the ground. Don withdrew his bo, and prodded experimentally, resulting in a minor rolling of the grass-covered "soil" around him. Taking his lead, Leo pulled out one sword, and thrust it deep into the ground.

Suddenly the earth bucked beneath them, and they were thrown off their feet as the ground went into convulsions. Leo plowed into the grass face-first, and clutched at the ground in an attempt to stabilize himself.

"What the—!" Raph yelled, but before he could finish, glops of whitish…liquidy stuff began falling around them.

Leo looked up, and narrowly missed one falling right on his face. The sky, moments ago blue, had turned hazy and gray. A golf-ball sized glob spattered on his ankle, but he was putting so much energy into not to be thrown around too much, he didn't have time to examine it.

"I don't think that was a good idea, Leo!" Don yelled.

"Yeah—I think you pissed it off!" Mike added.

"IT? What it?" Raph returned. "Are you sayin'…"

"Guh! Whatever it is, it just splooged all over me," Mike reported miserably.

"What the shell IS this stuff?" Leo hollered.

"Saliva?" Don said, though it sounded like a guess. "This is starting to feel like 'Honey, I shrunk the Turtles'."

"Nice doggy!" Michelangelo knelt to pet the 'grass'. "Nice... ginormous, green doggy! You don't want to eat Mikey and his bros for dinner, do you boy? Of course you do-waAAAHHHH!"

"Jesus fucking—Mikey!" The world lurched sideways. Gravity became a traitor and Mike was the first to be pitched off the face of the world. Raphael managed to keep his grip when the gigantic beast began to roll over. He snapped the sai off his belt, quick as a flash, and sank them deep into the beast's flesh. "MIKEY!" The plummeting feeling and the whirligig tilt of the sky were making him sick.

Raph craned his neck wildly, but he couldn't catch sight of any of his brothers now. He was alone. The creature's thick, sticky blood was pouring down his wrists. His grip on the handles grew slick, and panic shot though him.

He craned his neck the other way and saw that he was running out of time. The ground was approaching at a break-neck pace.

The turtle gave a savage yank, dislodging both sai from the massive beast's flesh and jumping into the sky. "Mikey! When I find you, I'm gonna kill yooooooouuuuuu!"

The sky and the ground continued to spin around, dizzily. Raphael heard his own voice trailing behind him like a banner, like a ribbon, like one of those stupid speech balloons in the manga Mike had left laying all over the living room for weeks.

Something seized him by the shell. Something hard pinched against his more sensitive bridges. Something yanked him out of a free fall that was coming way too close to a hard surface. Raph squinted at the ground, which rewarded him by not coming up to smack him. Then he cranked his head around to see what had him.

"GAH!"

The gigantic bug-thing was unimpressed with his (not at all girly!) scream of horror at realizing that he was being carried away by some sort of cross between a dragonfly and an actual dragon. Faceted eyes sparkled in the sun. Over the sounds of his (still not at all girly!) panic, Raphael could make out the beating of massive wings.

"RAPH!"

Now that was a girly scream. And it came from somewhere nearby.

"MIKEY! LEO! GET ME—oof!"

The, the thing, the giant fucking bug, or whatever the fuck it was, dug its pincers into his sides, cutting off his breath and causing light to flair the corners of his vision. "Ah, fuck," he gasped, but at least the pain cleared his head a little, got him out of panic mode and into thinking mode. He could hear his brothers' voices, but they were growing fainter as the ground blurred below him. One arm was pinned to his side by the bug's pincer thingy, but the other one was free, and in spite of the dizzying direction changes that caused his stomach to lurch, he managed to work a sai out of his belt.

"Tickle, tickle," he grunted, and he thrust upward into the beast. Instantly it swooped, and Raphael stabbed again. "Let GO a' me, you ugly motherfucker!" They were descending at a sickening speed, and Raph thought it was working, that it was gonna cut its losses and let him go… But before he could stab again it alighted on what looked like a black piece of coral, loosening its hold just enough to change grips slightly, and stung him. He felt the stinger pierce his thigh, a dagger of fire, and the venom burned through his body, creeping higher with every beat of his heart. He could feel his senses growing duller, his movements growing more feeble, and when the heat reached his neck, he knew nothing more.

* * *

Keeping up with the bug was impossible, but they ran anyway. Leonardo was leading the way, slashing through stalks of over-sized vegetation like they were sworn enemies.

Donatello was the first to slow his pace deliberately. "We don't have a visual on them anymore," he fretted.

"We know it went this way. So, come on!" Leonardo insisted with a fierce backwards glance that tried to spur his brothers back to full speed.

For once, Mike wasn't bothering to outrun the other turtles. He was barely keeping up with Leo, and slowing down to call out for his missing brother at regular intervals. "Raaaaaaph!"

"It won't do any good, Mike," Don muttered. He ran with one arm cradling the other, keeping it braced against his plastron. The pain was making his voice uncommonly sharp. "When I last glimpsed them, they must have been miles away!"

"Miles?" Mike repeated quietly. "Are you sure?"

"Maybe it was yards—since we're miniature in this world, apparently—but the scale hardly matters! It was a really long way. Far enough that there's no point in yelling for him."

"Enough chatter," Leonardo demanded, turning and advancing on his brothers with surprising aggression. "We have to focus on running. We can't afford to be separated from Raph in this place! Now—I know Don's been hurt, but what's the matter with you?" The hard lines in Leo's expression slackened into concern as he realized, "You're favoring one leg."

"Think I landed on it funny," Mike admitted, his freckles darkening with embarrassment. "It seemed fine at first, but since we been running..." He grimaced and looked down. "I can tough it out, though. We don't got to stop because of me." He glanced over at the ashen face of his brother, thinking: Don, on the other hand...

Resolution settled onto Leonardo's face. His mouth tightened and he gave them a quick nod as if something had been decided. "All right. Don, you have smoke pellets with you?"

Donatello used his good arm to check the underside of his belt. "Just two."

"Use them if something happens and you need me to return. I'll keep an eye on the skies, head back if I see smoke. Okay?"

"O-okay," Don agreed uneasily. His stomach roiled with automatic protest at the thought of splitting up even further, but what Leo was saying made sense. Raphael was in trouble. Someone had to go after him.

"After three days I'm heading back here, whether or not I-"

"Whether or not, nothing! You'll track him down, easy-peasy. Just like you tracked down all of us after you got back from your visit with the Ancient One," Mike insisted. He drew himself up to his fullest height. "You're gonna find him, right?"

"Right," Leo agreed, summoning a determined smile for his little brother. "I'll find him. You can count on it."

Donatello's brow knit with concern—but if he had anything to protest, all he said was, "Good luck, Leo."

Leonardo put one hand on either brother's shoulder and whispered, "Thanks. Please take care of each other." Then he sprang away from them and vanished into the curtain of overgrowth.

* * *

Raphael's eyes fluttered open. The world was on fire. He could hear himself panting. He could see his own hand in front of him, swimming into minute detail, caked with blood and dirt, dripping with sweat. Beyond his grimy fingers he could see nothing but flames, flames licking the ground, climbing into the sky. The clouds were a blaze of white and red. Then his focus swam and his eyes rolled back.

He choked and almost threw up. The world swirled grey and blue. It was the sky. It was the sea. It was a face.

A blue-speckled, mouthless face. Wispy antennae feathers bobbed towards him as it bent over him. "Gowway...!" He slurred, barely coherent, but aware enough to cringe and twist away when the creature's feathery moth-feelers tried to explore his face. It's spindly hands were far less gentle, taking hold of Raphael's beak and forcing his head backwards. It was pressing something into his mouth that tasted like wet leather. The feverish turtle struggled instinctively but he was not expecting to find his body so weak and unresponsive. The lower half of him was almost entirely numb.

Cool water slapped against his mouth. It caught Raph by surprise. He spat and tried to sit up at first, on the verge of true panic. But the world was still blazing all around him, an intense dry heat that sapped his strength and made escape seem futile. The water felt good against parts of his mouth that were cracked and dry, and his tongue felt gummy against the roof of his mouth. The creature raised the water skin again, tentatively this time. It's liquid hematite eyes were unreadable and luminous, watching as Raphael began to drink fitfully, then desperately, the muscles in his throat working hard to swallow. Then he spat out the end of the water skin with a spluttering cough and collapsed almost immediately into a restless, thrashing sleep.

The moth creature chittered and clicked with approval and returned to the benevolent task of dressing his punctured thigh.

* * *

Leonardo kept his eyes trained on the horizon at the point that he'd last seen Raphael. At least, he hoped it was that right point—it was hard to be sure in the waving sea of pink-tinted, over-sized grass. He really wanted to turn and look back to see if Don or Mike needed him (or even better: if they were following him) but was afraid to lose his orientation to the horizon. If he looked away for even a second, he'd never be sure he was headed in the right direction. And in this circumstance, veering off-course by even a step or two could put him miles away from his target.

But ancestors, this is boring! Leo squashed the thought with an effort, and attempted to summon up Firm, Leaderly Discipline, like the situation required.

The thought refused to stay squashed. The waving blades of grass all seemed to blend together in his peripheral vision into one big, boring cloud of pinkish, maroonish, brownish nothing.

"It looks a little bit like drying blood," Leo said out loud, drawing it to Don's attention.

...oh, wait, Don's not here.

He had to stop and think about it. Why can't I keep track of that?

Leonardo squinted and steeled himself to track Raphael again. His eyes stayed focused on the dim horizon. Even though this is all so boring!

He slogged through the grass, periodically slashing at especially-annoying pink blades of vegetation. The scent of the cut grass, like everything else, was different from what he expected, though Leo had to admit that he didn't have a lot of experience with it.

The scenery didn't change as he walked. Leo really didn't like the blood-clot-ness of it all, and concentrated on that for a while—it was at least something to think about!

The blood of his foes...er, the juice from the cut grass, that is...collected on his blades. Leo stopped and frowned at the sheen, and held one blade up to watch the liquid move sluggishly down toward the tsuba. The smell was even stronger. In fact, it was...it was...it...Leo brought the blade closer to his face, sniffing delicately.

And then he dropped both blades as he collapsed into the pink grass.

* * *

"Pull it tighter," Don gasped, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

"Are you sure?" Mike asked just as much for himself as for his brother, whose pallor was an unhealthy shade of gray-green even before they began binding the arm in a splint.

Don nodded, his eyes scrunched shut, his face pinched with pain. "Just do it," he panted.

Mike bit the inside of his lip, took a firm hold on the purple mask they were using to bind the arm, and pulled. Donatello gave a muffled cry of pain, but the arm straightened, and Don gave a nod and sat back, panting. "Thank you," he said.

"Um, you're welcome?" Mikey answered, but he must've done something right, because Don already looked marginally more comfortable. He sat down next to his brother against a rounded boulder—a mere stone, he supposed, if they were now the size of ants. He'd never be able to see the humor in Honey, I Shrunk the Kids again. They were sitting in the shade for now, but it was hard to see much beyond the immediate landscape. "Doing okay?" he asked his brother after a few moments.

"Yeah," Don said. Then he turned his head to the side to look at Mike, and gave a weak smile. "Better."

Mike nodded. "So… now what?"

"I just… let's just rest a bit, for now," Don said, his head already resting on the cool surface of the boulder behind him.

"Okay…yeah, sure," Mike agreed easily, but his anxiety was growing by the minute. Clearly, Don wasn't going to take the lead. For the moment, anyway. But Mike knew they couldn't just sit here for long. They had no idea when Leo would return, and they had no supplies. At the very least they'd need water—his throat was parched from the run. And what would they do if something found them? They should have some sort of shelter.

Mike turned his head to look at his brother again. Don's eyes were closed. For now, they would rest. Donnie needed it, and Mike couldn't leave him alone while he was sleeping. But soon, they'd need to formulate a plan. Mike leaned his head back against the rock, but his eyes remained open, watching the foliage move in the breeze. Soon, he'd wake Don, and they'd find water.

Slowly, the sun changed its position, until the shadow was angled across Mike's body. He squirmed a little to shift so he was more in the sun, enjoying its warmth. He closed his eyes.

Just a few more minutes… then water.

Soon…

* * *

When Raphael awoke he was drenched in sweat. He was in some kind of hammock, and at first, he was out of it enough to think it was his own.

But it wasn't made of nylon rope. It felt - different. Strips of something, almost like braided grass. There was no dank humidity hanging in the air, no distant rumble of the subways overhead.

The moth's face swam into his thoughts. He had seen—what? He tried to sit up but found he was too weak, drained by the recent fever.

All he managed to do was turn his head and stare at what looked like... there was no way.

His glazed eyes stared at the impossible object. He was thirsty. And it looked like... a giant blueberry.

_What the fuck?_ he thought dizzily.

It was too much to deal with. Whatever it was, whatever the moth creature was, he wasn't ready for any of it. Raphael closed his eyes and retreated back into darkness.

* * *

The first thing Leo was aware of was the smell—dank and earthy, and somehow stale, as if there was poor air circulation. He cracked his eyes open, blinked several times, and fought down a feeling of panic when he realized he couldn't see a thing, not so much as a shadow in front of his face. Breathing in short, shallow gasps, he scrubbed his eyes with his hands, hoping against hope his vision would clear, or that he was blindfolded somehow, but there was still nothing but blackness.

_Okay, stay calm_, he coached himself, trying to get a handle on his breathing. Slowly, his memory was coming back to him. He remembered chasing Raph, and crossing the monotonous expanse of boring grass... and that was about it. And now he was… He carefully felt around in the dark with his hands, and all he felt was…dirt. Or something _like_ dirt—gritty, with occasional clods and pebbles, small bits of vegetation. Nothing to give him much of a clue. He listened, but all was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. No wind, no rustling of vegetation, nothing. Absolutely no clue where he was, or if he was alone, or in danger, but he sure as hell wasn't going to get any answers just sitting here hyperventilating.

Leonardo swallowed hard, and reached around to make sure he still had his swords, carefully drawing one to have at ready, just in case. Then he crept forward on his hands and knees, feeling his way along until he… hit a dirt wall? He felt carefully upward, still occasionally squeezing his eyes closed and then opening them again, as if he would suddenly be able to see. As he felt upward, he realized the wall was concave, and Leo didn't even have to rise to his full height to determine it continued to curve around until it became the ceiling. It was as he had feared—he was underground. But how had he gotten here? He walked tentatively forward in a half-crouch, using the sides of the tunnel both for direction and stability, hoping to get a feel for whether the ground was sloped so he could begin to make his way upward, towards the surface. He'd only taken a few more steps when he heard a brief noise in front of him, something that sounded like something scraping across dirt. He froze, his breath speeding up again involuntarily. The noise came again, sporadic, almost like something scratching along dry paper.

Leo tightened his grip on his sword and raised it to ready position.

_This __can't__ be good._

The noise came again, closer. Leo closed his eyes to keep himself from wasting the energy trying to see in the pitch dark, and to draw on all his hours of blindfolded practice. He extended his other senses outward, stepping up into battle-readiness.

Something big. Something wet and heavy. Something...way too close! Leo extended one blade out.

The movement stopped. In its place came a strong sense of regard, as though someone were studying him. Leonardo could feel the presence just past the end of his katana.

He wondered what he should do next.

PEACE NO THREAT BE STILL, the darkness said.

Leonardo kept his blade steady, though his knees began to tremble. He wasn't hearing it. The thoughts were blooming in his head, spoken in his own voice.

"Who are you?" His voice rang oddly in his own ears. The acoustics in this place were strange.

FEEL IT SKITTERING TUNNELING BEHIND? it said. HUNTING YOU. HANG ON!

That was all the warning he got before something warm and and wet and made entirely of muscle hit his legs.

He stumbled and managed to get his swords sheathed in time not to impale his benefactor. He was being pushed forward. He couldn't tell how fast. Whatever had him, it was large and... mucousy. There was no choice but to hang on. He felt rocks and pieces of earth striking his calves as the tunnel walls raced around him.

Leo concentrated on tucking his body in, trying to make their progress as smooth as possible. There was an abrupt slowing, a sudden turn, and then they were shuffling along again, this time through a passage that was evidently much narrower. He still couldn't see a thing, but this… creature… apparently had no problems navigating in absolute darkness.

"How… how'd I get down here?" Leo gasped out.

GATHERING ALWAYS GATHERING HUNGRY.

Leo shuddered slightly. Whatever that meant, it sounded bad. "Do you mean…_you're _hungry?"

There was… something… not exactly a word, but a vibration in his head, almost like… laughter!

I DO NOT FEED ON WRIGGLIES.

"Well, that's...good to know," Leonardo said cautiously. "But if you didn't...gather...me for eating, then why -?"

LIFE NOT OF HERE. GATHERING ALWAYS. GATHERING NOT OF HERE TO KNOW IT.

The tunnel walls went on gliding by for a few moments while Leo sorted out not just the words, but the feelings that layered them with meaning. It was curious about me? he wondered. Aloud, he asked, "What's hunting me?"

NOT-WE, his ride and protector said.

The tunnel opened up, abruptly, into a wider space. Leo still couldn't see a thing, but he could feel the distance between himself and the wall all at once. Warm air circulated around him, carrying the smell of dirt and growing things. He slid off the slimy surface and steadied himself on ground that didn't seem to be level, but tilted slightly downward. It was hard to get his bearings, in the dark and on such uneven terrain. "You've been kind," he began, feeling very formal, "but I must get back to the surface. I need to look for my brothers."

The warm thing moved around him, encircling him. NOT SAFE. BRIGHTNESS. MUST GATHER NOT OF HERE TO KNOW IT. MUST FEED AND LIVE.

"I must find my brothers," Leonardo insisted.

The ring of damp, sticky muscle tightened around him, like an unpleasant embrace. NO, was clear in its words and its feelings. NO, it said, implacably.

NO.

Think fast, Leo, the turtle thought desperately. He forced himself to calm, forced himself to stop struggling, and felt the worm's flesh loosen slightly. _It wants to know you. Not because it's cruel, but it's hungry for knowledge. Hungry for company, maybe._

COMPANY. The beast plucked the word from his mind and seemed to pour over it thoughtfully. THERE IS NO COMPANY HERE, DEEP IN THE DARK.

"My brothers... they mean much more to me than company."

EXPLAIN.

So he tried. He closed his eyes and thought about them. He thought about Mike booby trapping his door to buy himself extra time to sleep in, but his efforts had been no match for Donatello. He thought about weapons training. He recalled breaking up a cereal fight that had erupted over the breakfast table. He thought of how it had been just two nights past. "We fought like a well oiled machine," he promised the worm, and his pride brought a smile to his lips. "We saved a pair of girls. One of them screamed and threw her purse at us, but it was still a good battle."

WRIGGLIES ARE OFTEN FEARFUL, the worm agreed. THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND.

Leonardo was silent, looking down at the worm he couldn't see.

MOSTLY THEY DON'T. PLEASE CONTINUE.

He thought about recent events. Toppling into this crazy universe. Falling off a giant creature and into a jungle of grass. Raphael being carried away. The pounding chase that had followed, and how his entire world had narrowed to that terrifying silhouette on the horizon—his brother, his blood, locked in mid-air combat with a giant wasp. He had been carried so far away!

A WINGED BEAST FROM THE SKY!

"Yes," Leonardo confirmed, his heart sunk lower than it had been before the sharing.

TAKE HEART, the worm commanded, giving him a squeeze and then abruptly releasing his grasp. WE MUST FIND THE LOST BROTHER.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**PART 2**

Meanwhile, Leonardo's other "lost brothers" were facing their own challenges.

Michelangelo had the unpleasant awareness that he didn't want to wake up, because something really bad was waiting for him on the other side of his closed eyelids. And unfortunately, the Something Bad wasn't going to be any better if he stayed asleep.

He had the equally unpleasant awareness that he was being dragged along the ground, and his shell was scraping over the rough surface. " 'm up," he called thickly.

The dragging didn't stop.

"Mikey, hush!" A voice whispered urgently through the ugly noises that his shell was making. "Wake up, but be calm—we're being taken by what looks like giant ants."

Michelangelo frowned. Giant ants? Wasn't that an oxymoron? "Donnie, that doesn't make any sense—aaahh!" he opened his eyes on the last word, and screamed himself fully awake. And spite of his brother's warning to be calm, he immediately began struggling, fighting to get away as hard as he could—especially since it didn't feel like this, this, GIANT ANT dragging him had a very secure grip on his leg. He could get away, he was sure of it, if he just—

"No! Mikey, don't do that, ants are—"

But Mike didn't need to hear the rest of the warning to understand. Immediately upon feeling resistance, the ant's mandibles tightened around his leg with bone-crushing force, and the sight of him struggling must have alerted some other ants nearby, because within moments he was being gripped—_hard—_by several other pairs of mandibles. He screamed and in his panic tried to kick out, but before he knew it he found himself no long dragging, but held aloft between several of the giant insects, their huge, segmented bodies gleaming darkly in the remaining light of day.

"Michelangelo, STOP STRUGGLING!" Don yelled, and there was enough of Leo's authority in his tone to make Mikey obey without thinking. "Ants are incredibly strong, and they cooperate with each other! If we want to get away, we have to use our heads!"

Mike gritted his teeth, as much from dislike of Don's plan as from pain, but he took several deep breaths, closed his eyes, and forced himself to go limp. At first there was no lessoning of the force with which he was held, but gradually he could feel them easing their holds, and finally one of the ants that had come to help let go altogether. Don was right. They were strong… but not so much in the brain department. They didn't care that he was still conscious, as long as he didn't move too much.

"Good, that's good," Don called to him, and finally Mike dared to open his eyes again.

"So… what do we do now?" Mike asked.

Donatello, who was being carried along by a single ant gripping him by the shell in its huge jaws, was quiet for a moment before he answered, "I'm working on it, just gimme a minute to think…"

Okay, that wasn't exactly the response he'd been hoping for, but Don had pulled them out of worse before. Since there was nothing much he could do about his current… situation, he focused on trying to take in the landscape around them, hoping that when they got loose, at least they'd be able to find their way back to where they were before. Only right now, all he could make out of their surroundings was a thick growth of what looked like… _pink_ grass.

Even in the bizarre and terrifying situation they were in, this odd plant life struck him as very, very boring.

* * *

They were on the move again through the blackness of the tunnels, this time Leonardo sitting—or rather _laying_—astride the creature that he had begun to think must resemble a earthworm. Or… maybe not an _earth_worm, if they were no longer on earth, but a worm, anyway. The undulating movements of its mucousy, segmented body were strangely soothing, but at least they seemed to have the same goal now, and Leo could only hope the worm could somehow help him find Raphael.

Abruptly the motion halted, and the turtle was pitched forward a little on the sinuous body. "What is it?" he said out loud, picking up on his companion's wariness.

IT IS THEM, THE GATHERERS. SOMETHING HAS EXCITED THEM.

"The Gatherers? Are they the ones who are hunting me?" He sensed assent from the worm, though there was no explicit message.

"…Are they the ones who brought me down here?"

YES. There was a pause, and then: THEY GATHER OTHER WRIGGLIES FOR FOOD.

* * *

Raphael pushed the water skin away, rather more roughly than was necessary, but his patience was wearing thin. "_No_, I don't need any more water! What I need is to—eggaahhph!" He turned his face aside from the suddenly questing feelers tickling his face. "_Will you quit that!"_ he stormed. "I gotta get out of here! I gotta find my brothers!"

The moth creature had been gentle with him for the most part, offering water, offering food, dressing his wound, and constantly trying to explore his face, but Raph had had enough. He was still very weak, but much more lucid now, which only made him more desperate to be on his way. He didn't know where _he_ was, but even scarier was that he didn't know where his brothers were, or even if they were okay. And at that thought he went rigid, his stomach knotted with worry as he recalled the sight of his brothers as he'd last seen them, growing steadily smaller as he was carried off by that other giant bug, the one that had stung him.

The moth, ever persistent, touched his face again, and Raph batted it angrily away, but this time the creature didn't back off so easily. Using its oddly strong spindly… arms, for lack of a better name, it held him firmly, fluttering its wings briefly in a rather agitated way, and doggedly brushed his face with feathery antennae. Raphael tensed, but this time he didn't fight it, mostly because it seemed so pointless. All of it. Suddenly the fear he'd been trying to keep at bay ever since finding himself in a nightmare he couldn't wake from surged over him, leaving him dry-mouthed and desolate—they were on an unknown planet in an unknown galaxy with no idea how to get back home… and they were separated.

He might never see his brothers again.

As the moth continued to explore his face, Raph realized he'd probably never have another opportunity to smack Mikey upside the head for one a' his smartass comments, or join in with him just to piss Leonardo off. He'd probably never see the light that came into Donnie's eyes when he had an idea for something else he just had to build, and know that around three a.m., if he should wander past the lab, he just might get a sneak peak. And he'd probably never see one of those rare wicked smiles Leo sometimes gave him just before a sparring match, when he was in a particularly good mood. When Raph saw that smile, he knew there was a better than average chance he was about to get his shell kicked, but he'd always answer it with a grin of his own, one that wasn't just for show. And now…

Raphael swallowed past the lump building in his throat, and shook his head in fierce denial. No. NO. He'd find them—he _had_ to find them!

Suddenly the moth creature pulled back, almost _jerked_ back, and began chittering and fluttering its wings again. It paced back and forth a few times, and as Raphael watched in confusion, it stepped out of the chamber and disappeared in a whir of wings.

* * *

"Hey Don? Where do you think they're taking us?"

"To their colony, I'd guess."

"Do you think it's much farther?" Mike asked, stifling a yawn. His injured leg still throbbed, and his skin burned and tingled where the ants were clamping down on him, but in spite of the discomfort, he was feeling rather sleepy.

"How should I know?" Don snapped, and then they both lapsed back into silence.

As they continued to be carried along through the unchanging landscape of pungent pink grass, Mike idly wondered if Don had thought of a plan yet. He thought maybe he should ask, but somehow it didn't seem that urgent. Surely his brother would speak up when he figured something out, and until then… Mike yawned again.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the pace started to pick up. Michelangelo began to notice things were a bit bumpier, and when he looked around him more closely, it seemed the grass was beginning to thin a bit. He shook his head to clear it, and craned his neck to peer blearily ahead at the line of ants in front of them. Yep, they definitely seemed to be hustling more now.

"Hey Donnie, I think we're getting close," he called out. He couldn't really see his brother anymore; their order must've shifted a little when Mike wasn't paying attention. The turtle felt a moment of panic when Don didn't answer right away, but just as he was about to call out again, his brother responded.

"I think you're right."

Don's voice sounded more alert now, and Mike himself felt as if he was waking from a deep sleep. His heart rate had instantly kicked up while he was waiting for his brother to answer him, and that seemed to have caused all of his senses to sharpen. And the vegetation was becoming more sparse with every step.

"Mikey, do you still have your 'chucks?"

Mike groped with his one free hand, and felt the handles of at least one of his weapons tucked in his belt. "Yeah—one of 'em, at least."

"I don't have my staff anymore, but I still have those smoke pellets. Just before we go underground—"

"We're going _underground_?" Mike yelped, wincing when his increased volume caused one of his captors to clamp down.

"Mikey, where do you think ants live? I assume they'll be bringing us underground… but the important thing is, as long as we don't move, I don't think they'll bother to kill us. Once they set us down, even if it's just to reposition us, we can get away. I think I can throw the pellets near the hole where they take us down, and if Leo's anywhere nearby, he'll at least know where to look for us."

"And assuming we can just walk out of here… then what do we do?"

"We'll… we'll just have to wing it."

"That's it? _That's_ your plan?"

"You got a better one?"

"Donnie… when do I ever have a plan?"

Their pace had really quickened now, and Mike could even see some open land around them. He was busy trying to work one of his weapons free with minimal movement when suddenly he heart a loud thrumming from above, a little like a helicopter, and glanced up to see... "Aaaaaaiiiiieeeeeeehhh!" The scream earned him a good chomp from a nearby ant, but Michelangelo almost couldn't stifle the next one when he got a better look at what was coming toward them. "Donnie, what the shell _is_ that?"

"I… I think it's a moth of some kind," Don answered, somehow managing to make himself heard above the noise. The wingbeats of the gigantic creature were kicking up dust and bits of vegetation, making it difficult to see, and the ants, though they basically stayed in linear formation, were clearly becoming excited. The winged creature, its large furry body dipping below its flashing wings, was cruising up and down the line of ants, and two more arrived just behind it, all of them apparently very interested in the progression of terrestrial scavengers.

"Mikey!" Don yelled. Mike strained his neck, trying to look towards his brother's voice, but he couldn't see much, and he coughed on the dust being kicked up around him. "Mikey, it's, it's coming after me, it's—"

His brother's voice cut off abruptly, and Michelangelo's heart began beating wildly as he strained against his captors. "DONNIE! Don, are you okay?" The ants were definitely becoming bothered by the disturbance, breaking ranks somewhat to surround their cargo.

"I'm okay!" Don answered at last. "It just… came at my face!"

And just then, Mike knew exactly what he was talking about. Another one of the moths was closing in on him now, staying out of reach of the ants surrounding him, their mandibles raised to ward off any attempts at theft. The winged creature, ashy-beige in color with inscrutable, shining black eyes, drew in close until it was directly above him, and brushed its feathery antennae over his face. Mike spluttered and struggled, but the new pain it brought from the pincers of the ants made him realize that the moth's touch, by comparison, was akin to a caress. It had drawn back some now, and Mike could've sworn it was regarding him, and when it came in a second time and reached out, Mike closed his eyes and remained still. As the feelers touched his face, he held his breath, and this time, something strange happened—an image appeared in his mind's eye, a mosaic of color and slightly blurred shapes that made Mike gasp out loud. His eyes snapped open, and the moth-creature drew back again, but only briefly. It made a soft chuckling sound, and then it laid an antenna against his cheek, almost coaxingly. This time the image that came was stronger, and Mike could tell that each piece of the "mosaic" was a replicate of the same thing… the blobby, vivid shape of a turtle-creature! And along with it came an impression of something that Mike could only describe as… fondness.

"Donnie!" he gasped, "I think… I think these things know where Raph is! I think they're trying to help us!"

"Mike, what—how could you _possibly_ know that?"

"Just… trust me, bro! We need to try to get away! NOW!" By the time he got the words out, all three of the moth-thingies had converged on Mike, and were currently zooming above the ants, causing confusion and a flurry of frenzied activity.

"Well… at least moths don't eat other creatures! Let's do it!" Don yelled.

He must've managed to find his smoke pellets, because at once they were enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke. Coughing, Mike managed to extract his nunchakus, and he whirled them as best he could and aimed a blow at the head of one of the ants that had been holding him. It didn't do much except make the beast angrier, and Mikey let out a yell of pain this time, instead of a shriek of fright. Still, there was nothing else to do besides keep fighting—it was do our die, now.

Michelangelo had the disheartening notion that it just might be 'die.'

* * *

Leonardo couldn't have expressed the relief he felt when the thick blackness of the tunnels began to seem a bit more… bright, even though "bright" didn't exactly describe it. More like, slightly less black. But as they continued onward, he began to make out some shadows, then the details of the creature he was mounted on, and by the time his companion was slowing, Leo was blinking at the brightness, even though the light was actually quite dim.

BEYOND IS THE WIDE OPEN, the worm said.

By this time, Leonardo had verified that it was, indeed, a giant worm that had carried him through the tunnels—identical to every worm he'd ever seen back home… except for its colossal size.

They had taken a side-tunnel to avoid the Gatherers, but Leo could hear a commotion just beyond the tunnel entrance. They inched closer, and just then an unmistakable sound cut through the din, a battle cry that Leo would have recognized anywhere.

"My brothers! They're out there!" Leo gasped, and he clumsily slid off the worm and scrabbled to his feet just in front of it.

THE MISSING BROTHER!

"One of them, anyway!" Leo answered. He had drawn his swords, and was trying to claw his way up the steep slope of the tunnel. Another human-sounding yell made him redouble his efforts, but he wasn't making much headway through the loose soil until he felt something support him and boost him upwards. He landed lightly on the soil beyond the tunnel, and caught sight of a dense cloud of smoke that churned with giant ants scuttling in and out, and terrifying winged creatures hovering and dipping above the commotion.

Leo caught his breath, and turned to the worm, whose segmented "head" was peeking up out of the tunnel. "Thank you, my friend, but I must go to my brothers."

WHAT IS THIS… FRIEND?

"Friend is… another wriggly. Like a brother, but different. An ally."

AH YES, WE ARE DIFFERENT, the worm conceded. BUT IF WE ARE LIKE BROTHERS, THEN I MUST ALSO GO TO THEM.

"I cannot ask that of you," Leo said, looking over his shoulder in his eagerness to join the fray. "It will be dangerous." He had seen the way ants swarmed over other insects back home, subduing them with sheer numbers until they ceased resisting. He had no idea what part the winged moth-like creatures were playing, but they too would be difficult to fight off if they attacked.

I HAVE FACED THE GATHERERS BEFORE. I AM STRONGER. THE BROTHERS CALL FOR US.

"So be it," Leonardo said. He didn't have time to argue the point, and in truth, he knew the odds against them might be too great even with the help of his worm brother. He ran towards the melee, the worm moving at a surprisingly fast pace behind him, and as he neared the cloud of smoke and dust, he could begin to make out the figures of his brothers. One of them—Mike, judging by the spinning nunchaku he held—was grounded by one ant gripping his ankle, and held partially aloft by a moth holding tight to his free hand. He was hitting the ant repeatedly with his 'chuck to seemingly little effect, but at least the other ants couldn't reach him. Donatello seemed to be having a much rougher time of it, as he was all but hidden by a mass of ants piled over him.

"Guys, hang on, I'm coming!" Leonardo yelled, dodging past the ants at the perimeter to get to his brothers.

"LEO!" Mike gasped with no letup in his frantic assault on the ant holding him. "Help Donnie! He doesn't have a weapon!"

_THIS WAY!_ Leo called in his head to the worm lumbering behind him, leading him into the thick of the fight, and warding off any ants that tried grabbing him with slashing swords. Their bodies were surprisingly well armored, and he quickly found that aiming for the legs and mouthparts was most effective. Even so, he didn't remain unscathed for long, and he began to worry he wasn't even going to be able to _reach_ Donatello in time. "DONNIE, hang on!" he yelled again, still fighting his way through a growing hoard of ants.

It was the worm that tipped the balance—while Leonardo was occupied, the creature slid past him, dozens of ants already clinging to its gigantic body with vice-like mandibles, but unable to slow it down. When the worm reached the pile of ants subduing Donatello, it cinched itself into a tight coil, and suddenly unleashed its power in a burst of furious thrashing, scattering the pile and sending a number of ants flying.

Leo stood awestruck for a split second, but recovered himself immediately and leapt, springing off of the bodies of several ants to reach Donatello, who wasn't moving—but there was no time to worry about that now. A few well-placed slashes freed his brother from the remaining insects holding him down, and Leo prepared to drag him to safety. The problem was… there was no "safety" to be had! They were still entirely surrounded by ants!

Then, appearing as if on cue, a moth flew in above them, with another approaching just behind. Leo held up one sword warningly, unsure of the creature's intentions, even as he knew he had very little choice. If they stayed on the ground, even an army of worms wouldn't keep the ants away for long.

"We have to go with them!" Mike called to him, apparently aware of their situation even though his own was so precarious. "I think they're trying to help us!"

Leo glanced up once more at the moths hovering just over their heads, and then back at the ants he was simultaneously fighting off, and then gritted his teeth and heaved the limp Donatello over his shoulders. "Take him!" he yelled, hating that once he surrendered his brother, he lost all ability to protect him. But at least these moth creatures didn't have wicked mouthparts like the ants did, or any mouthparts at_ all_, that he could see.

The closest moth fluttered in, and grasped Donatello around the shell with its dangling legs, dipping slightly with the sudden weight, but quickly adjusting and rising upward.

The second moth switched places with it, hovering just above Leo. All he had to do was reach up, and he'd be clear too… but there was still Michelangelo, anchored to the ground by the stubbornly clinging ant, and once Leonardo put himself in the moth's… hands, he'd have no control over where to go. He gritted his teeth and began to fight his way toward Mikey, his ragged breathing louder to his own ears than the clicking, shuffling, whirring tumult all around him.

The worm, aware of his intentions, began trying to help him clear the way, but it was already slowing with the weight of ants clinging to it, some of them mired in the thick coating of mucus.

"Let GO, you, you, BIG UGLY BUG!" Mike yelled, but even he was growing visibly tired, and Leo didn't even want to think about how painful the leg had to be, gripped in the ant's mandibles for so long and dripping with blood.

Then Leo felt a brush on his shoulder from above, and he glanced upward at the hovering moth. As he did so, the moth laid a feathery antenna against his face, and Leo, who was more open to such communication after befriending a sentient, telepathic worm, got the message immediately. He sensed no danger from this being, and with the vision it transmitted to him, he knew exactly what it had in mind. He held both arms up, and the moth went around behind to grab him around the shell, lifting him out of danger, but leaving his arms free to wield his weapons. After a little wobbling, the winged creature took him straight towards Michelangelo, and with one swift cut, Leonardo accomplished what all of Mike's battering with his blunt weapons could not against the hard-headed ant. His brother was freed so suddenly that the release in pressure snapped him upward almost like a rubber band, and although he was dangling by one arm from the moth (and screaming, of course), he was at least out of immediate danger.

Leo's carrier immediately began gaining altitude as well, but he used one of his swords to point below, and concentrated on forming an image in his head of what he wanted to do. The moth brushed over his head briefly with a feeler, and then went zooming back down toward the worm, who was still thrashing, though much more feebly.

_Thank you, my friend_, Leo called in his head. _These… Flutters_, he said, trying to find a word he hoped the worm would understand, _Will bring us to the last missing brother._

The worm didn't answer, but it must have heard him, because it straightened itself out and started fleeing the mass of attacking ants, gliding along at a rapid pace accompanied by Leo and his winged companion, who worked together as if of one mind to free him from as many ants as they could, and ward off others who seemed inclined to follow. When the worm had put some distance between itself and the ant colony, it rolled and squiggled against a rocky pile of debris, trying to shake off the last few clinging ants, and Leo's swords took care of the rest.

The worm was exhausted—Leo didn't have to be told to know that, but the moth was communicating to him the need to hurry—it was almost out of reserves, too. It set Leo down gently near the worm's head, and Leonardo sheathed his swords and laid a hand on the giant creature, imparting as much gratitude as he could with the touch.

_We could not have done it without you._

NO. THE GATHERERS ARE STRONG. BUT I TOLD YOU, I AM STRONGER.

Leo smiled. _Yes, you are._

YOU WILL GO NOW? TO BE WITH THE BROTHERS?

_Yes. And I will tell them how you helped us, my friend._

Leo sensed satisfaction from the worm.

THAT IS WHAT LIKE-BROTHERS DO. The worm then rippled the body segment Leo was touching, and began making its way toward a nearby hole.

The turtle smiled, and then turned to the moth, who was clinging to a log—really a twig, he supposed—on the ground nearby.

* * *

"Leo!" Raph called in relief when the third moth alighted in the chamber. Mike and Don had arrived minutes earlier, and all of them had been growing more anxious as time passed. Well… he and Mikey had been, anyway… Don had been unconscious since his arrival.

Raphael approached Leo, leaving Mike kneeling near the prostrate Donatello while a moth—Raph's original benefactor—tended to his many wounds.

The turtle in blue stood still while the moth that brought him in touched his face, then the moth departed, stepping back to the entrance before taking flight. Leo turned his attention to Raph.

"Leo, what the hell—what the fuck is going on, here? Mike said he an' Don were attacked by ants, and you and a, a giant _worm_ fought them off?"

Leonardo grasped Raph's shoulder firmly in greeting, but other than a perfunctory nod, he didn't answer his brother's questions. "Are you guys okay?"

Raph glanced back toward Don, and Mikey looked up at them with worried eyes. "We're okay, but Donnie… he's pretty beat up."

Leo gave his shoulder a final squeeze and went to crouch near Don, touching his neck gingerly to feel the pulse, and then assessing his physical appearance. "Has he been unconscious long?"

"Ever since we got here," Mike answered. "I splinted his arm, before the ants took us, but I guess it came undone… and I couldn't get to him—there were too many. They pulled him around pretty bad…" The guilt in his voice was all too evident.

"I know. It's okay, Mikey."

Then as Raph watched, Leo turned to the moth that was busy cleaning Donatello's wounds, and the moth rested its feelers delicately over his face, touching for a long moment before turning its attentions back to Don. "Our host thinks he'll be okay," Leo said. "He's badly bruised and cut up, and possibly has some muscle damage from the pulling, and there's the broken arm… but there's no reason to think he won't heal completely. Our friend isn't exactly sure why he hasn't woken up."

Raph's brow furrowed as he looked between Leo and the insect. "Where the hell did you get all that from?"

"I told you, dude!" Mike crowed. "I told you it was talking to me!"

"That's right," Leo agreed with a small smile. "That's how they communicate—with mental images, mostly, transmitted most strongly by touch. Nighthawk said he tried to communicate with you, but you couldn't understand. He was beginning to think that your species wasn't intelligent enough—"

Mike gave a snicker, but made an effort to smother it at a glare from Raph.

"But then finally some of your thoughts of us were transmitted to him, and he went looking for us."

Raph wrinkled his brow still more. "Nighthawk?"

"That's his name—or something like that," Leo shrugged. "It's hard to translate into words, but I was getting images of the night sky, and a bird, like a bird of prey, or something. When they found Mike and Don," he continued, "Nighthawk was relieved that he could communicate with Mikey at least a little. His companion didn't have any luck with Don."

"It was still confusing, though," Mike said, looking sharply at Leo. "I couldn't get as much detail as you're getting—just these weird, fractured, kinda blurry images."

"I think that's because they see differently, Mikey—they have multi-faceted eyes, and they must see in a different spectrum, or something, because the colors aren't true. But with practice, understanding them gets easier, and I was communicating with Ashwing most of the way back here."

"Well of _course_ you were," Mike said with a roll of his eyes, but Raph remained silent for a while, taking in everything he'd learned.

"Did it—uh, did… Nighthawk… tell you how I got here?" Raphael asked finally. "I've been kinda out of it."

"Ashwing told me. Apparently Nighthawk found you nearby on the ground, unconscious, with a dying wasp still holding on to you. Apparently you were both badly injured, but wasps are not friends of moths, and Nighthawk was curious enough about you to risk bringing you up here and trying to heal you. He's had some experience with stings of that kind, and you struck him as 'Not of Here'," Leo said with a smile.

Raph thought his brother's choice of phrasing was weird, but he didn't comment. There was very little that _wasn't_ weird about their current situation.

Nighthawk seemed to have finished cleaning Donatello's wounds, and he used a gauzy wrapping to bind a splint around his broken arm. The moth turned to Leo then, grazing a spindly leg over a cut on his forearm almost questioningly, but the turtle gestured toward Mikey, and Nighthawk turned and began fussing over Mikey's bloodied ankle.

Leonardo rose, and went back over to stand beside Raph.

"So… the big question is, how're we gettin' back home?" Raphael asked. "I don't even know where the hell we _are_."

"We're in a tree," Leonardo said, and Mike nodded his agreement, wincing as he shifted his injured leg to give the moth better access. "This is like a ledge, a natural notch in the trunk of a tree, and this," he said, gesturing above them, "is sort of like a ceiling made of a flap of bark. There's sort of a loose colony of moths living in similar structures all over this tree."

"Huh," said Raph.

"As for how we're getting back home… I'm not sure yet," the leader said, casting a not-so-subtle look at Donatello.

Raphael could guess what he was thinking—Don was the closest thing they had to an expert on this weird Sci-Fi shit—after all, he'd built the device that sent them here. Without his input, they were just fumbling in the dark.

"For now, I think it's best if we just sit tight. Mike and Don aren't fit to travel, and," he cast a swift look at Raphael, "I don't think you are, either. I'll talk to Nighthawk when he's all done, and try to explain our situation. Maybe he'll have an idea."

Raphael looked dubious, but Leo was right—what other choice did they have? At least they were safe for the moment.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**PART 3**

"Close your eyes and just… be open," Leo directed.

Raphael snorted. "Simple as that, huh? It's like me telling _you_ to 'just relax.'"

Leo shrugged. "It gets easier with practice, and you should at least try. Nighthawk is curious about you—and he did save your life."

After the moth had finished cleaning and dressing all of their wounds, he'd passed around a skin of water, pieces of oversized fruit Leo had sliced up with his katana, and then small bark cups of a syrupy beverage that tasted slightly fermented. All of them were exhausted, and although they had been provided blankets of the same stretchy, gauzy material used to bind Donatello's arm, they were reluctant to sleep until their unconscious brother had woken up. So they passed the time interacting with their host. Already Mikey was growing more adept at communicating, but Raph had been quite content to let the others translate for him.

Raphael let out a slow breath, studying the strange, furry face of the moth creature facing him, and finally nodded. Nighthawk gave a low chuckle, which seemed to express approval, and reached towards his face with feathery antennae. Raph closed his eyes, forcing himself to remain still at the tickly touch, and tried to "be open," whatever the hell that meant.

He kept his eyes closed for a long while without seeing or feeling anything, and he was sure Nighthawk had to be as bored and frustrated as he was—but right when he was about to open his eyes, Leonardo spoke to him.

"Here, Raph, try this—keep your eyes closed, but sit back—like this."

There was a gentle pressure against his shoulder, and he allowed himself to be pushed backward until he was leaning against the wall of the dwelling.

"Now stop thinking about anything, and just let yourself drift, like you're going to sleep."

Well that wasn't very hard—he _was _tired, and still not fully recovered from the wasp sting. Nighthawk's touch against his face was so light, after a time he forgot about it altogether.

Then he started dreaming.

He dreamed of warmth, of feeling languid and content, yet at the same time, perpetually hungry. Nourishment was all around him—he had but to reach out. And he did.

He dreamed of small dark spaces, of smothering closeness so he was barely able to move, yet there was a comfort in it, and safety, and the vague, indecipherable notion that things would not be this way forever.

He dreamed of colors, almost glowing with their brightness, and a sweetness that seemed to creep into all of his senses at once, across his tongue, into his nostrils, and even over his eyeballs, enveloping him, drawing him until he could no longer resist, and lifted to seek the source.

He dreamed of weightlessness, of the tickle of wind along his body. Of freedom. Of the stretch of color in front of him, blending and blurring together. Of a sense of self that was both frightening and enlightening. He found his first sip of nectar.

Nothing had ever tasted so good.

Then the dreams… changed. The formerly vivid sensations grew faint, and there was a vague sense of suspense, of incompleteness. Raphael stirred slightly at the disruption, but the odd feeling persisted. There was more, he was sure… there was something… else… a gentle pressure against his mind, and with a sudden insight he realized it was a question. The moth was telling him it was _his_ turn to share, and at first Raphael fumbled, unsure how to make himself understood, but the moth helped him, re-playing some of the things he'd just seen and felt, and Raph had a sense of the effortlessness that went along with it.

Could it really be that easy?

The moth reminded him of the sensation of lifting, of letting go, of the tickle of wind around his body… _Let yourself go._

And it really was as simple as that. He thought of curling up alongside his brothers in the dampness, feeling restless and hollow with hunger, but knowing they had to remain still until the furry one who brought them food returned. He thought of the first time he'd seen the sun, shining down in its perfect circle onto the floor of the tunnels, so bright he couldn't even look straight at it… only to learn that that was how bright it _always_ was during the day in the world above, and that the actual sun was infinitely brighter. He thought about laughing with his brothers, not feeling like he was missing out on anything, even though they lived in the sewers, and about the time in practice where he'd accidentally scratched Michelangelo with the point of his sai, though he hadn't meant to. And he thought of fighting. Fighting amongst his family, fighting the Foot and the Purple Dragons, fighting his anger, his impulses, his feelings… fighting even when it seemed hopeless, just because it wasn't in him to give up.

At that, the moth chuckled its approval again, and Raphael opened his eyes to stare into the inscrutable liquid eyes, feeling as if he'd travelled a great distance. He sat up a little, slightly disoriented, and turned to Leo, who was regarding him with something like satisfaction, and Mike, who was grinning broadly.

"So? Whaddya think?" Mikey asked eagerly.

"…Whoa," Raph said simply. He really couldn't put it into words.

Nighthawk chuckled again, then plucked briefly at his mask with one leg before pulling back.

"What… what was that about," Raphael asked, looking at Leo. "Why'd he touch my mask like that?"

Raph was afraid Leo was going to tell him to ask Nighthawk himself, but he wasn't ready for another experience like that quite yet, and he was relieved when, after a brief pause, his brother turned to Nighthawk and asked for him.

"I think… he admires it," Leo answered after a few moments, with the moth still touching his face. "He likes the color; it's very bright to him. When he first found you, I think he thought it was part of you, part of your skin."

"Oh," said Raph.

"And he says…" Leo smiled slowly as he 'listened.' "You aren't so unintelligent after all."

Mikey laughed at this, and Raph scowled. "I could say the same thing about him."

"And he thinks you're…" Leo paused then, his smile fading, and he closed his eyes as if concentrating.

Raphael watched him, waiting for the rest of the message, but apparently Leo was having trouble with it, because he shook his head and leaned in a bit toward the moth.

"You're… soft inside?" the turtle in blue continued tentatively.

"_What?"_

Michelangelo laughed again, louder this time, and Leonardo finally opened his eyes, and nodded, a slight smile playing over his face.

"I'm sure that's it—your defenses are considerable, but he seems to feel that when you get past that, inside, you're just the opposite. Hey, don't look at me like that!" Leo said when he took in Raph's expression, "I'm just the translator! But I don't think he means it as an insult, Raphael."

Raph opened his mouth to respond, but just then, an odd jolt shook the cavern, and he leapt to his feet, instinctively drawing his weapons at the same time. "What the-!"

His brothers were on their feet as well, looking around in alarm, and Nighthawk was fluttering and chittering in agitation. It was nighttime, and the cavern was lit only by the dim glow of some sort of phosphorescent mossy material placed on bark strips at intervals around the room, but Raph could've sworn he felt some sort of… presence with them. Then, something began taking shape beyond the darkness of the entryway, and as one, the three turtles and the moth began backing away. The shape grew closer and closer, and finally, Raphael could make out what looked like… a giant eye! It took up the entire entryway, light blue, and somehow familiar.

Before any of them could react, a voice boomed out, "Oooh, sorry!" and an instant later, Renet appeared in their midst, beaming. "Hi guys!" she said brightly, as if she'd just run into them at the mall, as opposed to on the other side of the galaxy.

"_Renet?_" Mike and Raph said together, and Leo did his best to calm the frantic Nighthawk.

"Oh, hey, sorry little butterfly," Renet said, putting up her hands placatingly, "I totally didn't mean to scare anyone—I didn't expect you guys to be so _small_ here. I'll be out of here in a jif, I promise!"

"Renet, what—are _you_ responsible for this?" Raph asked accusingly.

"What, me?" the girl said, her eyes widening. "Oh, no, honey, I'd be in SO much trouble for something like this! No, you guys did this all on your own!" Then she smiled. "But since I owe you one—"

Raph and Mike exchange a look, and Raph was sure they were thinking they same thing. _Just one?_

"I thought I'd, like, totally save the day and help you guys out!"

Leonardo, who'd finally gotten their moth friend to calm down, was first to recover from the shock of that unexpected statement. "That's, that's great, Renet!"

"You're gonna help us get home?" Mike asked.

"Exactly!" Renet said. Then she peered around. "Hey, where's Donnie?"

Raphael grimaced at her use of his brother's nickname, like they were _friends_ or something, but he gestured toward the back of the dwelling where Donatello lay. "He's back there, unconscious. Which is why you gotta hurry up and zap us home," he said.

Renet frowned a little, walked over to their brother, and stood looking down at him. "Hmmm." She put a finger on her chin for a moment, and then brightened. "Well, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Raph thought it was an odd way to say it, but he was in a hurry to get this "rescue" going. "Yeah, yeah, he'll be fine once we get 'im home. Now how's this gonna work? Do we gotta hold hands, or like, stand in a circle or somethin'?"

The blond woman looked up at him blankly, a slight pucker marring the otherwise flawless skin of her brow.

"He's right," Leonardo said. "We should leave as quickly as possible," and he too stood looking at Renet expectantly.

"Oooh," she said, comprehension dawning. "Oh, no sweetie, I can't do_ that_. I'd totally get in trouble, and I just got done with my probation over the whole Xygorth incident, which SO wasn't a big deal at all, but Lord Simultaneous said if I got one more Sithrait on my record, I'd never be promoted!"

"But, but, you just said you were gonna help us!" Raph sputtered, and even Mike, who was usually too dazzled by her extensive cleavage to be irritated with her, looked angry.

"Don't worry about that," Renet said dismissively. "I have a plan!"

"What is it?" Leonardo demanded in a cold voice, and even the unshakable Renet quailed a little when she caught sight of his glare.

"See, I can't _transport_ you guys or anything—I mean, technically, I shouldn't even _be_ here, since you got here by yourselves! But I can still get you a way home! All I have to do is discreetly go back in time after I leave here, get Donnie to imbed some sort of homing signal when he's building that thingy, and poof! You'll have a way home, and I won't get in trouble!" Her smile faltered a little. "I don't think, anyway. It's Palith monitoring jaunts to your Levicon these days, and he _totally_ has the hots for me."

It was sometimes hard to puzzle out what Renet was talking about, with all of the unfamiliar jargon, but they were all somewhat used to it by now, and the important thing was, her plan actually made sense. Except…

"Okay, so assuming you manage to go back to when Don was building that hunk of junk, and assuming he's _able_ to add some sort of homing signal… how the hell are we supposed to know how to activate it when he's unconscious!" Raph said, gesturing once again at Donatello, who hadn't so much as twitched a muscle through any of this.

"Hmmm? Oh, I totally wouldn't worry about that. You can just ask him when he wakes up, and you guys can be on your way."

"But—"

"OKAY, well I should be going now! Bye guys! See you back on Third Earth!" She gave a wink, and vanished before their eyes.

* * *

"That, that BITCH," Raph fumed, and Mike could actually see the bulge of the veins in his neck as paced back and forth in the cavern.

The youngest turtle secretly agreed—but he kept his mouth shut. After all, Renet _did_ have an awesome rack, and he didn't know how this time travel thing worked, but just in case someone was watching, he didn't want to ruin any remote chance he had of getting a private showing someday.

"I'm not arguing," Leonardo answered, running a damp cloth over Don's head with a touch that contrasted sharply with the tension in his body. "But ranting about it isn't going to help. We just have to hope she accomplished what she said she was going to, and wait for Donnie to wake up."

Mike's stomach flipped a little at what Leo had left unsaid—assuming he _does _wake up. They'd tried everything they could think of to revive him, short of dunking him in cold water or pitching him out of the tree, and he was still out cold. "Well… maybe we don't have to wait for him to tell us."

Raph halted, and Leo looked up at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's kind of a long shot, but maybe there's something on him that would give us a clue."

Leo's brow furrowed. "Like what, a big yellow button in his belt?"

Mike shrugged. "I dunno. It's just an idea."

Then Raph spoke up. "What I don't get is… how does this whole thing work? If Renet went into our past and told Donnie to change something, then how come he didn't already _know_ how to get us back here from the moment we arrived?"

"Well 'cause on our timeline _here_, Renet hadn't yet gone back to tell him to fix it," Mike answered.

Raphael just looked even more puzzled. "But how—"

"Trust me, dude," Mike cut in. "It's better if you don't think about it."

Raph rolled his eyes slightly and sighed, but he apparently decided to take Mike's word for it, and he went over and joined Leo at Donatello's side. Mike hobbled over and carefully lowered himself across from them. He placed a hand on Don's shoulder, studying him closely for any sign of life, and tried to quell his growing worry. Why was he still unconscious? Had their brother been hurt in some other way they didn't know?

Leo sighed, giving voice to the worry that all of them felt. Then he set the cloth he'd been using aside, and said, "I guess it can't hurt to go through whatever he has on him. If we were home, maybe Master Splinter would know a remedy. Or maybe he could try and reach him on a spiritual plane."

"So he's gotta wake up to tell us how ta get home, but you're sayin' maybe we need to get him home so he'll wake up?" Raph shook his head.

"I just don't know, Raph," Leonardo answered, his shoulders sagging.

Michelangelo looked back and forth between both of them, reading the worry and helplessness in their postures, and he came to a decision and reached out for Don's belt. At least going through his stuff would make it _feel _like they were trying to do something, even if all they could do was wait. He delicately opened the flap that held the left hand pouch closed, and pulled out a handful of items, laying them out for the others to see: A small pocket knife, a lighter, a pair of shuko spikes, and his shell cell.

Following his lead, Leonardo went for the pouch on the other side, and laid out a badly squished power bar, what looked like a flash drive, a small set of lock picks, a few short pieces of wire with alligator clamps at either end, and, from a separate inner pocket, a couple of shurikens.

Before he'd even finished laying them out, Mike was making a grab for the power bar, but Raphael, probably tipped off by his noise of excitement, covered it with his hand, and then whacked him on the head.

"Ow!" Mike pulled back and rubbed his head. "What's the big deal? Don doesn't need it right now, and I'm hungry!"

"We're supposed to be lookin' for clues, remember?" Raph grumped.

"You really think a power bar is the secret for us to get home?"

"Well what if it is, an' you EAT it?" Raph quipped back.

"Knock it off and help me look through this stuff, you two," Leo said, calling a halt to their bickering.

Mike sighed and picked through the stuff in his pile, opening up each tool in the pocket knife one by one, and then picking up the cheap plastic lighter and clicking it to make a small flame appear. Instantly Nighthawk was beside him, fluttering his wings and chittering, apparently alarmed by the fire. "Okay, okay, I'll stop!" Mike said, and let go of the button. With the flame gone, Nighthawk touched the plastic gingerly with a feeler, chittered again briefly, and moved away, apparently satisfied.

"What was that about?" Mike said.

Leo shrugged as he examined the segments of wire. "Guess I'd be nervous about fire, too, if my house was made of bark. And we all know how moths react to bright lights…"

Mike went back to his small pile of items, and picked up Don's shell cell. "Hey guys!" When they looked up at him, he held the phone up, let his eyes glaze over, and said in his best alien voice, "Eeeeee Teeeeee, phoooone hooooome…"

Leonardo sighed and rolled his eyes skyward, and Raph snatched the phone out of his hand, and smacked him again.

"Will you cut it out! That ain't funny!"

"Jeez, tough crowd," Mike muttered as he rubbed his head.

When none of the items gave them any clues, they carefully placed them back in the pouches. Michelangelo decided to take Don's belt off in hopes it might make him more comfortable. He undid the leather tie on the front, and it was as he was working his hands around the back to pull the belt free without moving Don too much that his hands encountered something strange tucked under it—it felt flat and somewhat rigid, and it was about the size of his forearm. Frowning, he pulled it loose, and held it up. "Hey guys… this was stuck in the back of his belt."

Raphael stared at it blankly, but when Leo caught sight of it, his eyes narrowed, and then widened. "It's a piece of that, that grass!"

Then Mike's eyes widened, too, and he recognized it as a broken off blade of the same pinkish grass that had been all around them when they were being carried by the ants. His eyes met Leo's, and he knew his brother was thinking the same thing he was. "Hey Raph, smell this," he said, impulsively thrusting one end of the broken vegetation toward him.

Raph drew back, but not before he'd gotten a good whiff. "Get that thing outta my f—" he began angrily, but then his face went lax, and he fell over.

Leonardo glared at him.

"What?" Mike defended. "I had to test it somehow!"

His brother sighed. "Well, I guess we need to get rid of it, and see if it makes a difference. Here, give it to me."

Mike gave him the grass segment, and Leo held it as far away from his body as he could, and dropped outside the entrance. He came back and moved Raph so he was stretched out comfortably instead of in a heap, and checked his vitals. "Well, I think he's just asleep, but it was a dangerous thing to do, Michelangelo. Raph's still not completely recovered from that wasp sting, and you had no way of knowing how that was going to affect him."

"Aw, he's fine," Mike said, but he was slightly chastened. He hadn't thought about _that_… "How did you know about that grass, anyway?"

"I was trying to make my way through a huge expanse of it on my way to find Raphael, not long after I left you guys. I remember feeling increasingly disoriented, and really, really tired… and then the next thing I knew, I woke up underground."

Mike nodded. "Yeah, I felt the same way when the ants were carrying us through it. It was just so, so… _boring_."

Then Leo and Mike just waited, and Nighthawk joined them. After just a couple of minutes, Raphael started to come around, and when he sat up, Nighthawk passed him the water skin.

"What the hell happened?" Raph asked groggily.

Leo shot another angry look towards Mikey before saying, "Your brother was recklessly testing a theory that that blade of grass has been making Don sleep. We're already familiar with its effects from before we were rescued and brought to here, and in Don's already weakened condition, even one blade might be enough to keep him sedated. It must have gotten stuck in his belt during the attack by the ants."

Raph looked over at Donatello. "But you got rid of it, and he's still sleeping?"

But before anyone could answer, Don stirred a little, and all of them moved closer, hardly daring to hope. At length, the sleeping turtle stirred again, and then swallowed and scrunched his eyes before opening them to peer blearily at them.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

Raph sagged in relief, and Michelangelo grinned. Even Nighthawk chittered excitedly.

Leonardo let out a breath, and took Donatello's hand. "You're safe, and we're all here with you."

* * *

"So… with the help of an intelligent worm, and those moths, we got away and were brought here, to this place… Nighthawk's dwelling, where Raph was waiting for us?" Donatello summarized, holding a wedge of fruit with his good hand.

"That's about it," Mike said brightly.

"So… now we just have to get home, right?"

Mike nodded enthusiastically, and all of them leaned in a bit closer.

"Okay so… how're we gonna do that?" Don asked.

Michelangelo wilted, and he and Raph and Leo exchanged disappointed looks.

"We, ah… had hoped you could help us with that," Leonardo said carefully. They'd already decided not to tell Don about Renet—at least not right away. It seemed more prudent just to see if he suddenly "remembered" how to get them home, rather than introduce more confusion.

"Oh," Don said, crinkling his brow. He still seemed kind of out of it to Mike, but they were all eager to get home.

"Are you sure you didn't, um, include some sort of backup... emergency thingy in that machine, just in case something like this ever happened?"

Donatello blinked, and then his eyes flicked back and forth introspectively as he thought about this. "Maybe… It's… hard to tell if I dreamed that, or if… hmmm. I guess it's worth a try," he said with a shrug.

"What? What is it?" Mike asked.

Don reached into his belt pouch, and pulled out his shell cell. "What else? Phone home," he said.

Raph groaned, and slapped his hand over his eyes.

Mike smiled gloatingly. "See? Great minds think alike."

* * *

"Okay, so I'm pretty sure once we've all entered the number to the pay phone at the lair into our shell cells, all we need to do is hit 'send' at the same time, and yours will link in with mine, pulling us all back to our home planet."

They were standing in a circle in the center of the dwelling, already having said their goodbyes and thankyous to their host.

Raph glanced over his shoulder at Nighthawk, who at Don's suggestion was standing well back from them, his wings and antennae drooping. He didn't want them to go, Raph knew, but Leo had explained to him about their father waiting for them back home, worrying, and Nighthawk had understood, as much as a moth who had never known his parents ever could understand such things. Fortunately his especially vivid method of communication make what Leonardo was saying quite real to him, and he'd shown no inclination to stop them from going.

"Remember, DON'T hit send yet, just type in the number," Don repeated with a stern look at Michelangelo.

"I got it, I got it, sheesh," Mike said.

"All right then, I'll count to three—"

"Do we go _on_ three, or after three? What, it's a valid question!" Mike added at a glare from Raph.

"If you'd have let me finish…" Don said, and once he had their attention again, he said, "I'll count to three, and say 'send,' and then we all hit the button."

Everyone nodded, and Don started the count down. "One… two…"

"Wait, hang on!" Raph said suddenly, and he broke away from the group and trotted over to Nighthawk, untying his mask. Sure, he wasn't too keen on bugs, especially _giant_ bugs, but…

"Here," he said, holding it out to the crestfallen insect. The moth touched the fabric tentatively. "No, take it," Raph insisted, pushing it closer. "I want you to have it." This time the moth plucked it up in his spindly arm, lightly running a feathery antenna over it. Then he chittered, soft and low, an altogether different sound from anything Raph had heard from him before, and brushed his antenna over Raph's cheek. Raph held still, and closed his eyes. "Thank you," he said softly. Then the moth slowly withdrew, and the turtle went back to his brothers, avoiding their eyes as he took his place among them.

"Let's go," Raph said gruffly, warding off any comments.

Donatello re-started the countdown. "One… two… three… send!"

The world turned inside out. Colors sang and screamed, flavors crawled over their eyes like bugs, lights flashed inside their shells, and smells tickled across their skins, as every sense the turtles owned went completely haywire and betrayed them. Gravity stopped working. They could fly, but they were rooted in cement, or so it seemed for that dizzying, stomach-churning moment. They struggled to stay together, to stay in control of themselves, as everything around them turned to shrieking chaos.

_Whump!_

"My sons, you have returned! What has happened? Where have you been?"

Michelangelo was the first one to recover his senses enough to answer. He sat up, rubbing his head. "Oh, hi Master Splinter. We just, you know, took an impromptu jaunt across the galaxy where we encountered a bunch of giant insects, barely escaping with our lives. Same old, same old. So… what's for dinner?"

* * *

THE END


End file.
